Beauty By The Glass (Poem)

buying beauty by the glass nathan-dumlao-492751-unsplash.jpg
but alone drinking you too fast

still wanting to taste again
as my head begins to spin

the world really wants to fade
yet you draw me to your face

I think I am falling in love
one sip was simply not enough

getting harder for me to think
my brain is pounding in my drink

2006 (revised 2018)


Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash


Chainsaw (Poem)


Crying, fervently alone in her room
Wondering what else she could do
Tragically her life is falling apart
Dreadfully, everything seems so hard

I never meant to be so mean
I was trying to keep her happy
Mostly, she kept quiet all her life
For a while I thought she was doing fine

O God, she’s got a chainsaw
And her other hand just turned it on
I don’t know if I should laugh or scream
Judging people is such a hard thing

Before now she never made a sound
And this is how she turned out
O please, can’t this be a bad dream
Why do bad things need to happen to me

2006 (revised 2018)

Photo by Michael Fenton on Unsplash

Odd Apple (Poem)


the hidden mass can’t find
pushing at
whatever gravity
toils hard to hide

maybe this barren garden needs
airy soil to survive

what does it matter if its dark
all that matters
is this secret
seed of my heart

can hardly harvest fruit when
weeds are so far

these building blocks collide
punching through
holes of earth
sprouting out new life

even the odd looking apple
falls down one time


Photo by Olivier Miche on Unsplash

Venom (Poem)

beige python on brown branch of tree
Photo by Worldspectrum on

At the risk of sounding mean
I won’t be saying anything

Too bad you let yourself get hurt
Even from my kindest words

So sad you’ve never had a clue
Of all the things I’m not telling you

But I’m glad you can’t peek inside
Coiled up tight, to my vicious side

My forked tongue knows venom burns
From always biting back these words


Bulletproof (Poem)


Photo by Darran Shen on Unsplash

Can you tell me what is that leaking through
Lost in her volumes, I thought that I was bulletproof

One of your munitions must have been aiming for me
So why can’t these sturdy shelves take one for the team

How many years have I been here boasting I was safe
Using this borrowed armor was a spine-chilling mistake

Can’t seem to coax my craven blood from leaving
And yet from all the covers I see – red isn’t everything


Greenware (Poem)

abstract ancient antique area
Photo by on

Ignoring the desire to scratch my palm
Just where my skin grows verdant
An odd hue at hand, yet truly not as vibrant
For which I liken this longing most urgent

My rude history of hair – its color
Thick and alarming, present calming
By age, and degrees – it seems to gray
And beneath, my two eyes search in vain
Of the third – clouded in unsculpted clay

I cower away from this reflection of self
And steadily crawl towards the rocks
Forlorn in the kiln, fired till leather hard
My fragile pottery too green, what crock